


Run Girl Run (This World Is Not Made For You)

by amazingjemma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Inhuman!Jemma, Mention of wounds, Panic Attacks, mention of needles, not actually a relationship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingjemma/pseuds/amazingjemma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running wasn't the worst thing now. In fact, running fast was one of the skills Jemma inherited after her exposure to the terrigen mist. Whether she had wanted this new change or not, her legs carried her as far away as possible from the H.Y.D.R.A. agents on her trail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Girl Run (This World Is Not Made For You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuperIrishBreakfastTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperIrishBreakfastTea/gifts).



> This is a prequel for "Begging You (To Keep On)" by lovely SuperIrishBreakfastTea! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> Also kudos to respekt-the-bovril for being amazing beta <3

 

Running wasn't the worst thing now. In fact, running fast was one of the skills Jemma inherited after her exposure to the terrigen mist. Whether she had wanted this new change or not, her legs carried her as far away as possible from the H.Y.D.R.A. agents on her trail. The survival instincts that flooded her veins, combined with her new powers, resulted in her running almost nine miles without a break. Still new to this, Jemma Simmons had no idea how to control her baffling new powers, so she did the only thing that felt right, and ran and ran and ran.

 

The hardest thing to do was to find a shelter; something that wouldn’t attract the attention of nosy tourists, or more importantly, her enemies. That's why Jemma found herself hiding away in dirty caves and condemned old houses, all alone, hungry, exhausted, and lost. Her most recent hideaway was a simple abandoned warehouse and of course, she couldn’t stay there as long as she would like to. A few days later she has been found and had to go on the run again, the sound of whistling bullets still haunting her in every fifteen minute nap.

 

Jemma still couldn't understand her powers, even after that specifically terrifying moment when she caused a fire and burnt down the agents. Too scared to think about the  consequences , she ran away, leaving a trail of curses behind her back. She tries to control herself, she really does. But sometimes the powers are uncontrollable and she  watches her hand rise,  creating a little whirl of the wind or even sparks of fire, leaving her  with bloody and  burned palms.

 

The sound  that makes her run now is  the sound of bullets and orders, shouted by the man who, she believes, is her  enemy-of-the-day . Her right shoulder is bleeding but she doesn't  really notice it, running as fast  as her legs can . Rapid breathing make her chest burn and she feels her hands start burning too. Jemma stops abruptly and turns  on her heel to see four agents running  straight for her; guns in their hands. Unable to control  her fire, she lifts her hands and a ball of fire strikes right  into of the men, making the  others stop and  stare at their burning friend in horror . Maybe she should feel horror at what she is now capable of, but Simmons only feels  proud of herself as she breaks away, leaving the H.Y.D.R.A. agents watching after her with fear in their eyes.

 

The shouts  fade behind her, until she can’t hear them at all and Jemma stops to give herself a rest. Only then she does notice the pain in her shoulder and cries out loud, falling to the ground  in pain and exhaustion . Not only is  her shoulder hurt, but also  her leg, covered in bruises and the shallow trace of a bullet  wound .  She had been too scared to stop running, but now that she has, it hits her all at once . A few tears escape her eyes, and she sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She is too tired to run anymore  tonight , but she is  determined to survive. She  has gotten too far to give up now. Her hand searches for the phone in the pocket of her  travel-torn hoodie and she sighs  in relief. The cell phone is the only thing  holding the remaining pictures of her past and she doesn't want to lose it like she lost everything else.

 

Eventually, Jemma finds enough strength to stand up and look for a shelter. She knows she is bleeding too much from her leg and shoulder, and she does her best not to close her eyes and fall on the cold hard ground. She stops a couple times to check on her wounds and what she sees  doesn’t make her feel any better . It's getting worse and worse with each step she  takes , and when she finally wants to give up, she notices a little cabin in the woods, with  a light on behind the windows. Jemma laughs quietly and gathers her last  scrap of stamina to approach the cabin. She  only remembers how she knocks on the wooden door, remembers an old man opening it and then the darkness meets her, as  a old good friend.

 

It seems like darkness lasts forever, but eventually Jemma feels something sharp and itchy on her skin and opens her eyes wide, immediately feeling the pain she had been temporarily free of and she can't help but scream. She tries to get up but a strong hand pushes her down and she hears a faint “calm down”. The voice is harsh yet deep, and she can see the same old man from before, standing above her through the blur in her eyes. A few seconds later she feels a needle, and she calms as an unfamiliar feeling of oblivion floods her system.

 

When the blur  in her field of vision clears , Jemma studies the man's face. He looks tired, but concentrated on his task of patching her up. _The strange girl that showed up and collapsed on his doorstep_ , Jemma thinks. Pursing her lips, she gathers her strength and turns her head to the right with a moan. The distance between the bed and the door is not that long, but she can see a path of blood. Her blood. She sighs.

 

“I'm sorry”, she says quietly and the man startles a bit at her voice. “I spoiled your wooden floor. Such a beautiful floor. Look at the color. So... beige.” She wonders why she is rambling on, as if she has lost control of her tongue.

 

The stranger laughs once, shortly, before finishing sewing up her wound. He put away the needle and the scissors, took a washcloth and gently began to wash blood off the girl's face. “You'll be fine. It's  the anesthetic . How are you feeling?”

 

“Baked like a cake”, Jemma chuckled, woozily. “It didn't look that bad when I checked on it.” She pointed at the sewed wound on her leg.

 

“That’s how things go, worse than they look. But you'll be able to walk. Although I would recommend you lay off the running for a while.”

 

Jemma winced. “No running? I don’t think you understand. Running is what I do, now. My life is running!”

 

“Yes, but if you damage your leg by denying it a proper recovery, how will you run then?” the man countered. “If running is your life, I think you would want to survive.”

 

“What is dead may never die”, Jemma moaned. “But rises again harder and stronger!”

 

The man shook his head,  lightly chuckling at Jemma’s reference, and pulled the covers over her shoulders, to keep his guest warm . “You should sleep. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you. For now, just rest.”

 

Simmons tried to keep herself awake, but in the end,  the combination of drugs in her system, and the warmth of the blanket won . The darkness  hugged her fragile figure, holding her close and safe  into the night.

 

The third time she wakes up, she feels more or less human. Her shoulder aches when she moves, but  surprisingly, her leg  is feeling much better , and  barely bothers her. In fact, she can move it without hissing in pain. Taking a deep breath, Jemma gets up and  with the light of day, can finally can study the cabin she is in.

 

It's cozy and warm, a fireplace looks so familiar that she has an urge to cry, here and now. She notices five frames with photographs, hung prominently above the fireplace. The first three photos have a strange concept of a building – or even a strange sign – that makes Jemma think that the man who saved her is an architect. In the fourth picture she sees a young man, wearing NASA suit. Jemma guesses  it must have been taken right before the mission to some planet and it, somehow, makes her wonder what kind of business he had to do and the results of space exploration. The final photo makes Jemma a little bit uncomfortable. The same young man stands next to the man who saved her. The NASA astronaut looks much worse than in previous picture and Jemma notices darkness in his eyes. Something  strange ,  that Jemma  finds herself associating with death.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

A voice startles her and she places hand on her heart, trying to breath e steadily.  The old man smiles apologetically.

 

“Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Are you hungry? I just cooked soup. And I have tea and fresh bread.”

 

At mention of food Jemma nods enthusiastically and her mouth starts water. She didn't remember the last time she ate soup or tasted bread. She didn't remember the last time she had tea, the way they –  _English_ – take it. So as soon Jemma sees  the bowl of soup, she can't help but let herself cry a little. Jemma makes sure the man doesn't see her tears and wipes her cheek before  joining him.

 

“So, how are you feeling?” He asks, sipping at his coffee.

 

“Much better”, Jemma replies, mouthful of fresh baked bread. Hunger erases any self-consciousness about any lack of manners. She almost swallows her tongue along with every perfect mouthful. “Thank you very much for helping me”, she says genuinely.

 

“You must have been a fighter. What happened to you? What made you run?”

 

Jemma freezes and swallows hard, staring at the man. He considers her suspiciously, lips tensed and only then Jemma notices how forbidding he looks. She can't trust him. She can't trust  anyone .

 

“That is something I would not like to talk about.” Simmons finally says, hoping he will not ask further. The man nods, as if she understands her (he does not) and Jemma sighs.

 

“I beg your pardon, but I haven't introduced myself,” he says with a smirk and holds his hand out. “Gideon Malick.”

 

She hums and made herself smile.  _Be polite, just be polite, he saved your life,_ \- she thinks. “Jenna Meyers.” She uses her fake name on purpose. She doesn't want a complete stranger – even if he saved her life – to know her real identity. She holds her hand out and shakes his. She tries not to notice how sharp his hand is. 

 

“It's nice to meet you, Jenna.” Gideon grins. He still seems suspicious, like he wants to ask more questions, and Jemma shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying to act normal. “Don't get me wrong, but I don’t think you should leave the cabin tonight. I've heard that people have been hunting some creature.”

 

“Creature?” Jemma repeats. She feels the coldness in her veins and stops eating. “What creature? Who are these people?”

 

_H.Y.D.R.A._ , she thinks and it makes her shake. She frets that Gideon actually knows her true identity and  he is just waiting for a perfect moment to let her down.  Ever since the thought came into her mind -  that he is one of them, one of these people who wants her dead-  she can’t shake the feeling that there is something wrong about him, about all of this. She  accidently drops her spoon on the table and it clatters loudly. She suddenly feels small. Her hand darts the pocket of her jeans and when she doesn't find her phone, she panics even more.

 

“Jenna. Hey, look at me. It's fine. They'll find the monster and believe me, they'll get rid of it. Can you hear me?”

 

_Creature. Monster. Get rid of it._

 

This is what they call her now. Not Jemma Simmons, a brilliant scientist, but a monster. She closes her eyes and concentrates on Malick's voice. It says it's going to be fine. It says the monster will be killed no matter what.

 

“Jenna? You can hear me?” She nods and squeezes her hand into a fist and takes a deep breath. Phone. She needs her phone. “Come on, let's come back to bed. You need a lot of rest.”

 

“Phone”, Jemma whispers, “I need my mobile phone. Where is- where is it?”

 

“It was right beside your bed.”

 

Gideon helps Jemma to sit down  on her bed and hands her the mobile phone, accidentally unlocking the screen. A young couple looking at him from the screen and Malick smirks  knowingly when  Jemma clutches her phone close.

 

“Your boyfriend?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The man on the picture. Your significant other?”

 

Jemma rises her eyebrows and barks out a laugh, shaking her head. Well, of course Gideon would think that. People always have.

 

“Oh, no, we are not... not even close, I mean, um... he's my best friend in the world.”

 

The panic attack  subsides and Jemma now can  breathe . She stares at the picture and tries not to let herself cry again. Jemma purses her lips, gently stroking the screen with her finger.

 

“That's Fitz”, she says quietly, completely oblivious to how she used his real name in front of Malick. She opens the gallery and choses that one picture which always helps her to calm down after panic attacks. “This. This is Fitz”, she says again.

 

“His name is like your favorite word”, Malick notices, staring at the picture. Jemma just smiles and locks her phone, turning to her savior.

 

“Would you mind if I stayed for one night? I promise, I'll disappear early in the morning, just... one night. Please?”

 

Gideon shrugs and stands up, holding his hands up. “No problem. Stay as long as you need to. I wouldn't mind the company. I'll be in another room, if you need me.”

 

The former scientist beams at the man and watches him leave, clutching her phone tighter. This is the most precious thing she has. The only thing that keeps her running. The only thing that reminds her  what she had in her past . So she makes herself comfortable on the  couch and unlocks her phone once more. She smiles when she  selects the photo she  took years ago in their first lab and stares at Fitz, imagining him as if he was with her right now.

 

“Goodnight, Fitz”, she whispers and stares at the screen until she falls asleep.

 

Her sleep wouldn’t last long and a few hours later she wakes up with a start, sweat  soaking her clothes, hands shaking. Jemma immediately finds her most precious thing and unlocks it, staring at the picture. She reminds herself that he is searching for her, that he won't give up, he won't forget her. After a few minutes she finally calms down and stands up, unable to fall asleep.

 

Her eyes fall on the fifth framed photograph once more and she quietly approaches the fireplace. She makes sure Gideon Malick is not  around or watching her, and only then she does takes the frame in her hands, studying it carefully. The NASA guy looks terrifying. She sees nothing but death in his eyes and it makes her shiver. Gideon Malick, on the other hand, looks far too proud and happy, as if he's going to burst out of happiness. What kind of man could be  _that_ happy? Jemma turns the frame the other side and notices a little crack. Just under the crack she notices words,  but not English ones. Too curious to let it go, Jemma takes the frame back to her bed, trying to understand what's been written behind the photograph. Finally, she decides to pull the photograph out of the frame and study it more closely.

 

What she sees doesn't make her actually happy. In fact, what she sees, makes her blood run cold. The saying is familiar from her studies and she takes a deep breath, trying to remember the meaning.  _Quod incepimus conficiemus._

 

“What we have begun we shall finish”, she says quietly and her breath hitches. Jemma feels an urge to throw up but pulls herself together and returns her attention to the picture in her hands. Right under the quote she sees the names and another yet latin saying.

 

_Will Daniels and Gideon Malick._

_Vitam impenedere vero - to risk someone's life for the truth._

_Mission codename: HyMa7._

 

Jemma chokes in the last sentence and the photograph she is holding nearly ignites. She doesn't know what “Ma7” means, but she's perfectly sure what “Hy” means. It  is not hard for her to understand the word for the organization that is actively trying to take her life. H.Y.D.R.A. Of course this man is connected to them. Of course he wants her to be healthy and safe, so he  could hand her over to her killer's arms. And he would be the only one who'd try to find  _Fitz_ . The  single thought of Fitz getting hurt makes Jemma  want to run away. She quickly places the photograph  back in it’s place, gathers her things and tries not to notice the pain on her shoulder when she tries to open the door. She tries to make  the least noise as possible, but the door is not opening. Cursing quietly to herself, she decides that using her powers would be the best idea right now. So she holds up her hand and creates something  that she still can't explain yet, but it makes the door open and Jemma sighs in relief. Before leaving, she visits the kitchen and takes everything she can carry with her: bread, vegetables, fruit.  Something, anything to help keep her alive.

 

Only then  does she leave the house, running as fast as she can through the night. She stops a few times to check her mobile phone. She stares at the photo and  every time it motivates her to run.

 

“I know you won't give up, Fitz. So I won't either.”

 

She wants to believe that it's true, and somehow, Fitz will hear her.

 

Running is her life now. Life is her running.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos or/and comments make me very happy! <3


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